


Watching Me, Watching You

by dirtymudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But Hermione Likes it, Draco Malfoy is a Perv, Edgeplay, F/M, Glory Hole, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood
Summary: He didn’t mean to find it and it wasn’t his fault it was there and really you couldn’t blame him because the entire house was made of wood and wood naturally had holes and he didn’t build the damned house and technically if he hadn’t found it, someone else surely would have and what were the odds that she was in the next room anyway?And mostly all of that was right.For instance, he did not mean to find it.But he had anyway.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 31
Kudos: 766





	Watching Me, Watching You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> Hello everyone! It is sweet Libra LadyKenz's birthday today and in honor of that, I wrote a little something because she is a woman after my own voyeur heart. I hope you enjoy, Lady, and have an amazing birthday!
> 
> MIND THE TAGS PEOPLE

He didn’t  _ mean  _ to find it and it wasn’t his  _ fault  _ it was there and  _ really  _ you couldn’t blame him because the entire house was made of wood and wood naturally had holes and he didn’t  _ build  _ the damned house and  _ technically  _ if he hadn’t found it, someone else  _ surely  _ would have and what were the  _ odds  _ that  _ she  _ was in the next room anyway?

And mostly all of that was right. 

For instance, he did  _ not  _ mean to find it. 

But he had anyway. 

* * *

They called them the Renegades. The group of them: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and Gregory Goyle who had turned their backs on everything they knew. 

And it wasn’t purely for selfish reasons, thank you very much. Of course it had become quite apparent at the battle of Hogwarts that the side they had always believed to be stronger, smarter,  _ purerer  _ was anything but. And perhaps it was very convenient that after this discovery the lot of them had shown up to the Burrow, sticky with sweat and blood and tears (that Theo would  _ absolutely  _ deny if you asked him) and practically begged in a very un-Slytherin-like way to become turncoats. 

Surprisingly,  _ she  _ was the first to readily accept them. 

_ “We’ve already lost Snape,”  _ she had told them,  _ “They could be useful. They have to know something.” _

_ “They’re just children,”  _ she had argued.  _ “They didn’t ask for this no more than we did.” _

And then, it was a house divided.

The Weasley brothers on one side, accompanied by Moody and Kingsley Shacklebot practically spitting at the idea of allowing the Slytherins to stay.

_ “We should just Obliviate them and send them on their way,”  _ Moody offered. 

On the other side; Harry Potter, the Weasley parents, Lupin, Tonks, and Hermione bloody Granger. 

And in the middle they sat, each of them finding one corner or another much more interesting than the fight going on in front of them that would decide their fate. Except Draco. He could only look at  _ her.  _

For every point a Weasley screamed at her, she had a calm retort. Some fact or statistic. Some study that she had read in some book in some library somewhere that she somehow could recall years later. 

She was pretty in a less obvious way, Draco thought. She was easy to overlook but when she was there, right in front of you, campaigning for your life? Yes, she was quite pretty. Had she always been? Hadn’t her teeth been bigger at some point? And when she folded her arms under her bust in a huff and unconsciously lifted her breasts, had  _ those  _ been there the whole time? 

She looked properly pleased at one point, like a cat who had found the thickest clotted cream, and before the group knew it they were being instructed by Lupin to follow him down a narrow set of stairs. 

They had spent the night locked in the Burrow’s basement, which to Draco was quite ironic and maybe a bit karmatic considering how many people  _ they  _ loved were probably locked in  _ his.  _

Pansy had slept in Theo’s lap, and Blaise and Greg had leaned their shoulders against each other, and Draco did not sleep at all. He should have spent more time paying attention to what she was actually saying rather than what her tits looked like. 

He didn’t know why they were there. Or when they would get out. Or, Merlin,  _ if  _ they would get out. 

The answer came the next morning when a begrudged Ron Weasley opened the door and requested Theo to follow him. Pansy had gripped his hand fiercely as they watched him leave the room, so hard that his knuckles popped and didn’t quite feel right for days after. He never returned. 

An hour later or so, Tonks came down for Pansy. She had offered the younger girl a reassuring smile which was not reciprocated in the slightest. 

_ “Do you think they’ve been off’d?”  _ Blaise had asked.  _ “We should request they at least be buried together.” _

Soon after, Greg was taken up by Molly Weasley who, bless her heart, had brought a blanket down with her to wrap around his shoulders while she led him up the stairs. Which Draco thought was odd if you were just going to kill him. Who cared if he was cold if he’d be dead?

Draco was getting jittery by that point. His leg had not stopped shaking or bouncing or moving in some way. 

_ “How can you be so calm?”  _ he snapped at Blaise, who was lazily picking at his fingernails. 

_ “I’d rather die in their bleeding heart Gryffindor way than crucio’d until my lungs burst.”  _

Draco cringed and said nothing more. 

Hermione Granger came for them next and when she said Blaise’s name, Draco’s stomach sank.

_ “If I have a say at all, please bury me as far away from that prat as possible.”  _ Blaise said casually. 

She gave him an odd look, but said nothing. Draco wanted her to look at him. Well he did and he didn’t. It was just that she was always so  _ open  _ that he was afraid if he looked into her eyes, he’d know exactly what would happen to him.

Blessedly, she left the room with Blaise without meeting his eye. No one came back for hours. Or what felt like hours. He had resorted to pacing to keep his mind busy and by the time Harry Potter had come to collect him, his thighs were sore. 

They said nothing to each other while he was led through various hallways and staircases and when they passed an open doorway Draco had to do a double-take, almost falling over at the sight of his friends, all of them, drinking tea. Drinking  _ fucking  _ tea with  _ fucking  _ Ginny Weasley and Hermione  _ fucking  _ Granger. 

Blaise was the only one to spot him as he passed and he offered a tip of his cup in acknowledgement. 

In a crowded study sat Lupin, Moody, and Arthur Weasley circled around a chair in a center. Lupin gestured for him to take a seat and Draco watched as Potter unscrewed a small vial and handed it to him

_ “Bottoms up.” _

It tasted almost completely like water, but it didn’t feel refreshing. Veritaserum. 

They didn’t even have to potion him. He would have sung like a canary if not just from pure relief that his friends were alive and  _ he  _ was alive. 

He didn’t even remember the questions or what he answers were, they just seemed to fumble from him without permission. But by the end of it, he was sitting at a kitchen table in a fresh pair of clothes drinking tea with a gaggle of Gryffindors. 

* * *

They all had different ways of coping, being locked in the Burrow for weeks at a time. Draco knew that at some point they had exhausted the knowledge the five teenagers had about Death Eaters, Horcruxes, and You-Know-Who. Then they became a liability. And they knew it. 

They weren’t allowed to go on missions, they were taking up most of the space in the safe house, and most of them had Death Eater parents who were more than likely looking for them.

Pansy developed a habit of chewing on her hair at around the same time Theo began biting his nails to the quick. Blaise enjoyed muggle cigarettes that Arthur smuggled him just a little too much and Greg was always found with some alcohol or another mixed into his tea. 

Draco stayed in his room. 

It was the easiest place to be in the Burrow. He shared the uppermost floor with Granger and the eldest Weasley brothers, who were almost never there. Draco found it much more pleasant to be quietly reading his books than it was anywhere else during the day. 

The Burrow was a constant filtration of people coming and going from missions, more often than not returning with some grotesque injury that needed to be healed. Draco had made the mistake of having lunch at the same time Lupin returned with a deep gash in his chest, where they had to lay him out on the dining table to heal him. 

After that, Draco decided it would be best to stay in his room as much as he could. 

The room was small and not very well decorated in Draco’s humble opinion. There was a small bed which was pushed up against a window overlooking the garden and a short dresser that fit all three shirts and two pairs of trousers Draco now owned. A worn brown couch fit snugly in the far corner and another chair sat at the end of the bed. 

With a sigh, Draco placed his wand on the dresser surface and began rummaging through the drawers for nigh clothing. The sudden rattling of the old furniture caused his wand to roll quickly backwards and through the small gap where the wall met the dresser. Draco slammed his palm on the top, trying to catch his falling wand to no avail. 

“ _ Fucking  _ shit--” he huffed, scrambling off his knees. 

“Accio wand.”

Nothing but the sound of wood rattling against wood. The wand was stuck. Of course it was. Of fucking  _ course.  _

He grunted at the weight of the wardrobe as he pulled it from the wall, the legs creaking and wobbling in disagreement from being moved after years of disuse. 

“Got you, bloody prick,” Draco bent to retrieve his wand from the floor. 

But something else caught his eye. A beam of light trailing from the wall to hit the back of the dresser. A hole. A small hole. A miss-it-if-you-weren’t-looking-for-it hole. 

And  _ really  _ you can’t blame him for looking through it. There has to be some kind of muggle psychological explanation for why you  _ must  _ look through the hole because it’s  _ there  _ and Draco would bet out of a hundred participants, most of them would do the same. 

Granger’s room was, essentially, Granger’s room. 

He had never seen the inside of it before this and so it took a moment to register just  _ what  _ he was seeing. But who else in their right mind had so many books you would barely distinguish the wall color from the spines? 

Her room was much warmer than Draco’s, she took the time to hang pictures on the uncovered parts of the walls and she had clothes practically falling out of her open drawers and it looked lived in and  _ homey.  _

Draco pressed his face closer against the wall and closed his other eye tightly to see better. Most of the images moved, but Draco could make out a few older muggle photos of a buck-toothed (so she  _ did  _ have them at some point) Granger standing between who could only be her parents. 

He was so occupied with canvasing her room that he barely noticed when the door creaked open and Granger walked into her room. But he was made acutely aware when a pair of long, tanned legs barely encased in a fluffy white towel came into view. 

Looking back, there was about 30 seconds of limbo where Draco made a conscious choice to watch. Which is actually quite a long time if you think of how much you can do in half a minute, but in that moment the seconds between Hermione Granger having a towel on and Hermione Granger  _ not  _ having a towel on felt like mere moments. 

Draco nearly choked, recoiling slightly back from the wall as if he had been electrocuted by the wood. He blinked rapidly before eagerly pressing forward again, pressing both palms flat against the side of his head. 

She  _ shaved  _ which was the first thing Draco noticed. Not just her legs like he knew most witches did, but  _ everything.  _ Even without the beads of water that trailed slowly down her torso and clung to the dip behind her knee she seemed to glow. The tops of her thighs and stomach were slightly paler than the rest of her due to lack of exposure to the sun. 

Draco sucked in a breath as he watched her raise her arms above her head to tie up her damp hair into a ratty old shirt. It caused her tits to bounce just so and even with the pull of her arms, they were heavy on her chest. 

She moved out of his line of sight for a moment and Draco almost wined at the loss of her skin when he had not yet even counted the freckles that were sparse on her thigh. 

But in a moment she was stepping up to her bed and placing her leg up on the ledge. If Draco wasn’t already pressed completely against the hole he would have most surely slammed forward. The new angle exposed the profile of her backside which Draco noted was dimpled and  _ round  _ and jiggled ever so slightly as she moved. 

Hermione opened a potion bottle and poured the contents into her hand and the trailing them, not full of lotion, over her elevated leg. It was mesmerizing, watching the way she dipped her fingers into the divots of her leg and spread her fingers out to completely absorb the lotion into her leg. 

It was the single most erotic thing he had ever seen in his entire life. 

And then she was pulling her hair from the shirt, letting the wet curls fall down her back and stick to the taunt skin of her shoulder blade. 

He wanted to grab them. He wanted to grab them and saturate his hand in her wet hair and throw her head onto the bed and his cock twitched as he imagined the small, surprised noise she would make while he stood behind her. One hand fell to the front of his trousers to press his palm against the throbbing erection he was now sporting as she finished lotioning the other leg. 

Draco watched her lips part in a sigh as she poured more into her palm and ran her coated hands over her stomach and across her chest. Her skin looked sticky and smooth and he ached to run his tongue over every spot she was covering with her own hands. 

And when she tipped back her head to slide her hands over her neck and jawline, it was too much. He pushed himself away from the wall. He was panting, when did he start panting? 

His heart was hammering and his skin felt like it was vibrating and he couldn’t hear over the blood that was pumping in his ear and he couldn’t help but grip his cock through his pants and hiss because he had never been so  _ sensitive  _ before. 

He could barely make it to his bed before he was kicking his trousers off and pumping furiously at his cock, imagining Hermione’s lotioned hands working him over and over, sliding her thumb over the slit and pressing her fingers into the thick vein that ran over the underside. 

He was edging himself. Bucking wildly into his hands before releasing himself with a whine. It’s how she imagined she’d do it. She would love that power over him. Nothing would come easy with her, not even release. 

One hand slammed above his head, gripping at the linens of his pillows and pulling it to his mouth to bite on harshly as his hand worked faster. Her long legs, her wet curls, her bare mound, her lips parted, her head tilted back. 

When his release finally came, it was in silence. So intense he held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut and bit down harder onto the corner of the pillow while his hips sporadically fucked into his hand. 

When the euphoria of his release had settled and he was carefully pushing the dresser back against the wall, he fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams plagued with visions of her. 

* * *

If Blaise had cigarettes and Greg had alcohol and Pansy chewed at her hair and Theo bit his nails to make the days go by faster, then Draco had watching her. 

He watched her while she did mundane tasks like folding her laundry the muggle way or resorting the books against the wall and then resorting them again the next day. 

He watched her brush her hair. He had never even realized how long her hair was until it was sopping and straight against her chest, dampening her shirt. It clung to her neck before curling up at the roots and it just looked so  _ soft  _ that he longed to bury both his hands in the tendrils. 

He watched her while she laughed at something funny in a book or smile at something written in a letter and Draco thought that’s when she looked the prettiest. It was his favorite moments. 

His least favorite was when she’d cry. She didn’t do it often. She was more likely to get angry, red in the face, and pace the room from wall to wall with her hands clenching and unclenching. 

But when she did cry, it felt like acid in his throat. Because he knew it was happening and he couldn’t do anything about it. He wanted to draw her into his lap and let her pull her knees up to her chest and put her head on his shoulder until the sadness seeped from her and into him. He would take it for her. 

And he felt like he  _ knew  _ her. She hummed Christmas music even in the middle of October. She sat on the floor when she read, never in her bed. While most of the books that littered the room were nonfiction and texts, she had an extensive Agatha Christie collection. 

And he felt drawn to her even outside the privacy of their conjoined bedrooms. During dinners that Mrs. Weasley requested his presence, he watched her eat. She hated broccoli and loved peas. Especially if they were piled atop a mountain of mashed potatoes. She didn’t eat meat, but would partake in fish or chicken on the rare occasion. And she  _ always  _ ate dessert. 

He had even taken the initiative to be nice to her, or at least as nice as he knew how to be. He would help her with dishes after dinner even though she insisted it be by hand. Although they never spoke during it, Draco would often purposely brush his fingers against hers when she handed him a plate. 

Many mornings he would find himself waking up still pressed against the wall, having dozed off to the comfort of knowing she was  _ there.  _

Because Blaise and Theo and Pansy and Greg had their own addictions, and his just happened to be her. 

“Goodnight, Gin,” he heard her voice from the hall. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Draco quickly folded the corner where he stopped in his book,  _ 1001 Interesting Insect Facts,  _ which was decidedly  _ not  _ interesting, and carefully moved back the dresser to take his place for the foreseeable future. 

He couldn’t see her yet as she still stood in the doorway, away from his line of sight, speaking softly with the youngest Weasley with promises of breakfast and a helping to clean out the gardens of the gnomes for the impending marriage of the eldest son. Draco heard the door shut softly and he finally saw her.

She was wearing the same jumper and black muggle stretchy trousers she had been wearing at dinner. The hem of her sleeves and the bottom of her jumper was still splotchy from water that she had spilled on herself while washing the dishes. 

She had gasped then harrumphed as the water soaked through her shirt.  _ “Don’t laugh, Malfoy.”  _ she said when she noticed his snickering. 

_ “Wouldn’t dream of it, Granger,”  _ Draco smirked. He chanced a glance in her direction and watched as she piled her hair on top of her head and was surprised to see her lips twitch into a smile. 

Her hair was now falling freely around her shoulders in the way Draco liked. She sat on the edge of her bed to untie her trainers and remove her socks, rubbing the soles of her feet with her thumbs and sighing. 

Draco held his breath as she began lifting the bottom of her shirt over her head. He looked away. Since the first night he hadn’t seen her in any state of undress. It felt wrong, more wrong than watching her just read or brush her hair. 

But she sighed loudly and Draco opened his eyes again, swallowing at the sight of her clad in a baby blue lace bra with her breasts spilling over the scalloped lace that lined the top. She pushed her hair behind her shoulders and twisted her arms to unlatch the hooks. 

Draco’s mouth parted as he watched her pull the straps from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor in front of her. He hadn’t taken the time before to truly appreciate her breasts with its rosey, puckered nipples and slight sag over her ribcage. He was transfixed. So much so he had barely noticed her hooking her thumbs into the elastic waist of her bottoms and pushing them down to her knees, using her feet to kick them the rest of the way off. 

He had seen her completely bare before, but somehow seeing her clad in nothing but a pair of white cotton panties made him squirm. He expected her to stand then, walk to her dresser and throw on a pair of night clothing and they could continue their nightly routine. 

But instead, laid down flat on her back, her knees bent towards the ceiling. She was trailing one hand gently between the valley of her chest, down her stomach, and then back up. Her eyes were closed and her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth. 

Draco couldn’t move. He was pressed between the wall and the dresser, absolutely transfixed at the sight of Hermione Granger lifting one hand to trail down her neck while the other ghosted over the peaks on her chest. 

_ Merlin,  _ Draco gasped softly,  _ she was teasing herself.  _

He shifted, his slacks suddenly uncomfortably tight. Her bent knees parted to allow the hand not playing with her tits to move down to toy with the hem of her panties. From his angle and the angle of the bed, Draco could just make out the outline of her hand sliding underneath the cotton. 

Her satisfied sigh made Draco’s whole body vibrate and his abdomen muscles to twitch at the forbidden sound. He watched as the hand on her chest pinched one nipple harder than Draco expected her to enjoy, but there was no mistaking the audible gasp that fell from her parted lips, even from where he was. 

Her hips were moving off the bed, following her hand and riding her fingers, chasing her pleasure. Her gasps turned into pants turned into moans. Her tongue was now constantly poking out to wet her lips, there were two creases between her eyebrows as her hand worked faster. 

“Oh, God,” he heard her gasp quietly. 

Her eyelashes were fluttering gently against her cheek. Her back arched almost completely off the bed. 

“Please,” she whined, Draco had never heard her beg before, for  _ anything.  _ And the desperate, babbling tone that seemed so foreign made him reach a hand down to palm his throbbing hard on. 

“ _ God,”  _ she was close. Her thigh muscles were jumping and twitching and shaking. Draco was panting along with her, not able to believe she was about to-- “ _ Draco!” _

In the shock of it all, maybe even more so that she had used his first name or that she had done so during her impending release, Draco pushed off the wall suddenly, his head colliding with the back of the dresser behind him. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he swore loudly, reaching behind him to cradle the tender spot. He paused then, the dread settling in in slow waves. 

Because he was pressed against the wall, a wall with a  _ hole  _ in it, shouting into the empty, otherwise quiet floor of the house. 

And he was still there, on the floor, between the wall and the dresser, when Hermione opened the door. A thin robe wrapped around her now, her arms crossed under her chest. 

“Looking for something?”

* * *

His first thought was that she had not put on a bra when dressing to come to his door, evident by the two small lumps peeking out through the thin material of the robe. 

Which really, in the scheme of things, seemed to be the least important information. He was about to get kicked out of the Burrow. Perhaps not even just him, but his friends. Hermione Granger was the only one keeping them here, the only one still campaigning for their right to stay. 

And what now, when she realized that she was defending a sick, perverted man on the other side of her wall? 

He couldn’t go back to the Manor. No matter if his Mother forgave him, he would surely be turned over to the Dark Lord in favor of  _ something.  _ He could run away to France, or perhaps Italy with Blaise, maybe he could convince her to let the rest stay if he just--

“Well?” 

Draco opened his mouth, then slammed it shut again quickly. Opened it again to try again, but only a small wounded noise came out. 

“I… I dropped my wand behind the dresser,” he offered. 

Hermione quirked a brow, looking pointedly at the bed where  _ 1001 Interesting Insect Facts  _ laid with his wand resting on the cover. 

“Oh--,” Draco laughed nervously, “ _ there  _ it is.” he trailed off weakly. 

Hermione pursed her lips, stepping into the room and wordlessly,  _ wandlessly _ closed and locked the door behind her. If he wasn’t in this current predicament, he would have found that quite attractive. 

“Come out from there,” she instructed, jutting her chin out. 

He scrambled off his knees, relieved to note his erection was no longer an issue as he brushed his hands down the front of his thighs nervously. 

“Granger,” Draco began cautiously. “I am  _ so--” _

“Stop.”

His jaw clicked shut, his stomach dropping into the floor and his heart leaping under his tongue as she moved behind the dresser and bent to press her face against the hole. 

“You’ve got a good angle here.”

He said nothing. 

“How long have you been watching?”

He licked his lips and she stood again, tapping her nails impatiently against the surface of the dresser. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hm,” she wrinkled her nose at the non-answer and glanced back at the hole. She was quiet for a moment and for a dreaded moment Draco thought perhaps she wasn’t going to send him away at all. Perhaps he was going to die here, in the Burrow. Maybe they’d bury him in the garden. Perhaps not, though. Not if they knew what he’d been doing. They’d more likely set his body on fire or maybe--

“Did you like it?” Hermione asked suddenly.

“ _ Wha-  _ Did I  _ what?”  _ Draco scoffed indignantly. 

“Did you like it? Watching me?” Hermione gave him a thoughtful look, as if solving a riddle and  _ not  _ catching her sworn enemy  _ peeping  _ on her. 

“I...I--”   
“Don’t lie,” she gave him a pointed look. “Did you?”

“I--  _ Yes,  _ but I--”

He fell silent as he watched her pass him, her shoulder grazing his slightly. She grabbed the arm of the chair at the foot of the bed and dragged it to the middle of the room, Draco winced at the sound of the metal being yanked across the wood. She set it facing the bed and pointed to it. 

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit here,” Hermione pointed more forcefully at the chair. “Unless I need to go get Harry and Ron.” 

Draco’s breath caught and he quickly seated himself, rubbing his now sweaty hands against the arms of the chair. “Are you-- Do you plan on killing me?”

She  _ laughed,  _ that sick witch. Her lips twitching and her nose wrinkling in a way Draco had only ever seen her do through the hole. 

“No, I’m not going to kill you,” she snickered, her hand coming up to toy with the knot at the waist of the robe. “I’m going to make you watch.”

She pulled at one end of the belt until the knot gave way and the robe billowed around her side. She was even better up close. All the small details of her that he couldn’t see from so far away were now in focus: the peach fuzz around her navel, the small mole on her hip bone, the faint scar on her sternum. 

Draco sucked in a breath and blinked harshly. “I don’t understand.”

His voice sounded pathetic. Like an animal desperate to be let go from a steel trap or a drowning man begging for air. 

“You wanted to watch me,” she let the robe fall off her shoulders and onto the floor, crawling onto the bed and holding herself up on her elbows. “so watch me.”

Draco’s hands clenched around the arm rests, sweaty and trembling as he watched her run a lazy hand over her chest and down her torso. For how forward and confident and in charge she was acting, her face was flushed a brilliant red, her knees were still pressed tightly together and she swallowed harshly when her hand met her pantyline. 

“You’ll have to open your legs,” Draco offered, blinking once he realized it was  _ him  _ who said it. 

Hermione’s eyes snapped open and met his. They narrowed and her mouth curved into a sneer. 

_ Much better,  _ Draco thought smugly. 

“I know how to touch myself, thank you very much.”

“Well, by all means.” Draco gestured out with his hands and relaxed his back against the chair, slumping slightly in the seat.

Her legs opened slowly, but surely, until her panty covered cunt was exposed to him. Draco bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a moan. The cotton around the seam of her nether lips was almost completely soaked through and sticking to the soft flesh. Draco could make out the outline of her cunt even as she writhed into a more comfortable position. 

“Take them off,” Hermione arched a brow at him and Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible. Take them off,  _ please.” _

Slowly she hooked her thumbs into the side bands and shimmed ungracefully on his bed until they hung around her ankles and dropped in front of him. 

_ This  _ was worth dying over. Even if in the next second she decided to hex him into oblivion or her buffoon friends busted down the door, the last image he would have was Hermione Granger on  _ his  _ bed, bare and wet and panting. He hoped they’d at least let him wank one last time before his death. 

Her cunt was plump and pink and glistening as she parted her legs for him again. 

“You’re staring, Malfoy.”

“I thought that was the whole point,  _ Granger.”  _ He countered, leaning forward again, resting his elbows on his knees to be closer to her apex. She smelled of salt and coconuts and  something typical of her, a scent caught in between and old bound book and dried ink.  Draco shivered and shifted in the seat, spreading his legs further to release the tension on his groin. 

On a shaky breath, Hermione pressed a finger gently against her clit. Her toes curled on the bed and her hips jumped slightly at the contact. Draco groaned aloud as he watched a trickle of wetness seep out of her opening to trail down onto his duvet. He would never wash his bedding again.

Draco watched her shiver at the sound of his groan and he smiled darkly. She was holding herself up on one elbow, her other hand carefully caressing and stroking her rosey petals. Her head tipped back letting her curls cascade down to fall behind her. 

“Put your fingers inside,” he urged, his voice coming out as a low growl. 

Hermione’s head tipped forward. Her eyes were hooded and glassy and her bottom lip was swollen from being gnawed on. “A lot of demands coming from the man in the chair.” 

Draco all but fell forward on his knees out of the chair, his torso flush against the side of the bed. Hermione gasped at the sudden movement, moving to close her legs, but Draco’s hands snapped out to grab her knees and force them apart. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Hermione spat, but Draco was happy to note she no longer moved to close her legs. 

“Just getting a better view, darling. I wouldn’t want to miss anything,” Draco’s eyes drifted up to meet hers, which were lidded and dark. “Please, continue.”

Cautiously she dipped her fingers back into her wetness and trailed it up to circle around her clit. From his new position Draco could watch as her opening greedily contracted, aching for something to latch onto. He rubbed soothing circles into the soft flesh of her knee and she moaned. 

“You look pretty spread out for me, Granger.” 

She trembled, but didn’t answer. 

“It’s even better up close than through the wall.I can see how wet you’re getting. I can  _ smell  _ you from here. ”

She whimpered, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve touched myself right here, right on this bed Granger, after watching you. You drive me mad. And now here you are, spread out for me on the same bed. It’s like a fucking dream.” 

Hermione moaned loudly and Draco’s smile turned wicked. “Oh, you like that don’t you? You  _ like  _ that I was watching you then and you  _ love  _ that I’m watching you now, isn’t that right Granger?” 

Her responding whine was long and desperate. Draco removed his hand from holding her knee and grabbed her hand away from her cunt. She practically shrieked in response, her hips bucking up to reach for the lost friction. 

“I said isn’t that right, Granger?”

“ _ God,  _ Malfoy,” she hissed. “ _ Yes,  _ okay? Now  _ please--” _

Draco gripped her hand harder. “Let me.”

She stopped bucking for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed as if assessing him, and then she slowly nodded, scooting up higher on the bed and falling back off her elbows. Inside, Draco rejoiced while he crawled up her body, hovering above her. 

His heart constricted at the sight of her below him. She was beautiful. So beautiful it made his chest ache and the look she was giving him was unlike how anyone had ever looked at him before: with want and wonder and  _ trust.  _

“Please, Draco.”

Her voice was a whisper and Draco smiled softly at her. “I’ll take care of you.”

The first gentle touch of his finger through her folds made her eyes roll back and her mouth open in a gasp. He didn’t know if anyone had ever touched her this way and from the way she was practically squirming away from him yet tugging on his hair to pull him closer let him know she was overwhelmed with the sensations. 

Her moan broke when one finger finally pushed into her opening, curving forward to touch the spongey, sensitive skin of her front walls. His thumb pressed against her clit as he pumped into her, letting her adjust her hips to ride his fingers the way she wanted to. Draco loved it. Loved that she was using him for her pleasure. Loved that she was letting him watch her fall apart. 

The way her thighs trembled around his hips and her inner muscles started to contract and pulse around him, he knew she was close. 

“I can’t-- I can’t--” she whispered over and over, her head thrashing from side to side. 

Draco kept a steady pace, never faltering from the slow, curved pumps of his fingers or the rapid circles of his thumb on her clit. “You can, darling. Let me see you. Watch me watch you.” 

Her eyes opened just as her mouth fell open with a silent scream, her grip on his hair falling to grasp around his neck as she twitched and shook in his arms. 

Draco surged forward, claiming her open mouth with his and even in the height of her release she kissed back urgently until finally she fell onto her back, boneless and still trembling, and pulled Draco with her to lay next to her. 

Even after such a beautiful, special moment Draco couldn’t help but feel the dread creeping up around his stomach. How was he supposed to go back to normal after this? Now that he knew what she smelled like and felt like and  _ tasted like?  _

She was drawing lazy circles on his chest with her head turned against his shoulder. It felt wonderful and awful. Because he wanted to keep her now that he had her. 

He swallowed. “Granger--”

She groaned. “Malfoy, I just had the most intense orgasm of my bloody  _ life,  _ can’t you just let me enjoy it?” 

She cuddled further into him, pulling his spare blanket over herself and tucked herself under his chin. Draco furrowed his brows and pushed back to look at her. She made a small sound of protest after having found such a comfortable spot on his chest.

“You’re not mad? That I’ve been practically perving in on you for the past few months?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I was, at first.”

“At first?”

Hermione shrugged, trying to pull him back down onto the bed. “I woke up a few weeks and noticed there was light coming out of the hole. I peeked through and saw you asleep, I thought perhaps you had been watching me.” 

Draco conceded, too shocked by her revelation to refuse. She positioned herself once again across his chest and sighed in contentment. 

“Why didn’t-- Why didn’t you  _ stop me?”  _ Draco gaffed, lifting his hand to smooth her hair down away from his face. 

He felt her burrow further into his neck. “I don’t know,” she answered sheepishly. “I guess… I guess it was just exciting. That you wanted me like that. It felt…  _ powerful,  _ I suppose.” 

Draco laughed. A deep, bellied rumble that seemed to even startle the woman laying across him. “You’re demented, witch.”

He hissed when he felt her teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck. “You’re a perv, Malfoy.”

* * *

At the end of the war, Draco’s friends seemed to move beyond their addictions. 

Pansy had stopped chewing on her hair and Theo had finally let his nails grow long. Blaise no longer lingered with the smell of stale tobacco and Greg hadn’t even had a lick of alcohol in months. 

But Draco? His addiction was harder to get rid of. 

She currently sat between his legs as she read through his copy of  _ 1001 Interesting Insect Facts,  _ which of course  _ she  _ found fascinating. She was reading her favorite facts out loud to him while he enjoyed the shade of the tree they sat under. She would smile up at him and casually kiss along his jaw. 

No, he didn’t think this was an addiction he’d be quitting. Maybe not ever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my sweet girl comfortablesilences110 because, without her, this wouldn’t be nearly as filthy 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com


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